Dirk has lived his life upholding the no-holds-barred legacy of the Sinner's Creed Motorcycle Club, and dreaming of one woman he can't forget. Ever since Saylor was 17 she's been drawn to this dark and mysterious man who always showed up just when she needed him. After years of fated encounters, he's back. This time he's taking her. This time she's ready for the ride. But secrets will put them both to the ultimate test and force Dirk to make a decision: submit to his destiny with the MC, or choose his own.
In this collection of vintage-photograph postcards, Kim Jones explores the cityas flying past.
Praise for Sinner's Creed "Kim Jones writes an emotional and moving story and you don't even have to be an MC fan to be captivated by it."--The Huffington Post
"Kim Jones knows the MC world from the inside--her stories are authentic and real."--Joanna Wylde, New York Times bestselling author of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series
"This may look like a classic Motorcycle Club tale, but Jones takes it to another level with a depth and realness that is absolutely refreshing."--Daily News (NY)
"Unlike any MC romance you've ever read. Jones delivers an angsty, heart-wrenching and wholly unique story."--RT Book Reviews
"Profane and raw."--Publishers Weekly
"[Jones] takes the harshness of the MC lifestyle and breathes life into it...[Sinner's Creed] has every element that MC lovers crave and all the heart that romance lovers need."--Mommy's a Book Whore
Praise for Sinner's Creed "Kim Jones writes an emotional and moving story and you don't even have to be an MC fan to be captivated by it."--The Huffington Post "Kim Jones knows the MC world from the inside--her stories are authentic and real."--Joanna Wylde, New York Times bestselling author of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series "This may look like a classic Motorcycle Club tale, but Jones takes it to another level with a depth and realness that is absolutely refreshing."-- Daily News (NY) "Unlike any MC romance you've ever read. Jones delivers an angsty, heart-wrenching and wholly unique story."-- RT Book Reviews "Profane and raw."-- Publishers Weekly "[Jones] takes the harshness of the MC lifestyle and breathes life into it...[Sinner's Creed] has every element that MC lovers crave and all the heart that romance lovers need."--Mommy's a Book Whore
First in a new series-welcome to the Sinner's Creed Motorcycle Club, where hard bodies and hot leather are made for each other, and love gone wrong is the most irresistible of all...
Prologue I knew the man in front of me was doomed. This was a test. I had to prove my loyalty. The club had my pride, now they wanted my innocence. The knife I held in my hand would be kept as proof that I was guilty of murder. It wouldn''t help my case that the man was begging for his life, on his knees in front of me. We were the only two on the video. It was everything they needed. My fingerprints, my weapon, and my face. The club would use it against me if I ever turned on them. I wasn''t scared to take this man''s life. I knew he deserved everything he got and so much more. What scared me was knowing that if I did this, there would be no saving me from the depths of hell, from the fiery roads of eternity or the haunting sounds of this man''s screams, which I was sure would give me nightmares for the rest of my days. But, this club is all I know. I''m out of options. Either I prove myself now, or I walk away and never look back. I look up at my grandfather, who gives me a nod of encouragement. His black eyes are full of hate. They have the same effect on me now as they did when I was seven. He is the only man I fear, and the only man I don''t want to disappoint. The club means something to me because it means something to him. He is all I have. He has molded me into the monster I''ve become. If I knew for sure that not becoming a killer would ensure me a spot in the afterlife away from him, I would take my life right now. But, I know there is no place for me but hell. With him. For eternity. I can only hear the man''s screams, but I see my grandfather mouth "pussy." He is growing impatient. I have to make a decision. So, I ask myself, Is killing this man worth pacifying the demon-possessed grandfather who raised me? Is taking a life really worth seeing the small, temporary sparkle of pride in his eyes that I''ve never seen in my twenty-one years? Is it worth the small mustard seed of hope that this will make him love me? You''re fuckin'' right it is. I kill the man with the brutality that the club expects, stabbing him over fifty times until his face is unrecognizable. I let the faith I have in my grandfather''s love fuel me. I let images of him smiling and telling me he loves me fill my head, and block the sight of the face I am butchering. When I am finished, I search for him in the crowd, but he isn''t there. When I finally notice the men around me, the body is buried and the evidence has been collected. They all wear a look of pity on their faces. Their eyes apologize for what my grandfather is, and what I have become. They can keep their guilt. They can save their sorrow. My cold, dead heart is at the point of no return. The hell I once feared is now a desire. Satan isn''t there anyway. He is here. His eyes are black as night, his heart is cold as ice, and the words Sinner''s Creed are tattooed on his back. The same poisonous blood that runs through his veins runs through mine. Hell is my home and Satan is this man, the only father I know. And if evil is he, then evil am I. I don''t need his pride. I don''t need his love. He wanted a monster; he got one. I am the spawn of Satan. I am the son of Lucifer. I am Sinner''s Creed. Chapter 1 Innocence. That''s the first thing I thought of the first time I laid eyes on Saylor Samson. Her eyes were wide. Her teeth were chattering, and her hair was stuck to her head as she stood in the rain, shaking at the sight of me. I was scaring her. It was pouring, dark, and a man she didn''t know was approaching her. I usually had women throwing themselves at me. Leather, rain, and sex seemed to go hand in hand with the women I knew. But, looking at her, I knew she was not like the women I knew. She was a girl, a young one. Maybe seventeen. I stereotyped her instantly, figuring she was one of those little cheerleading bitches that was out past curfew. Or maybe she told Daddy she was studying with a friend when really she had been fucking some guy outside the club that wasn''t too far from here. My kind didn''t visit her part of town much. It was probably the first time she had ever seen a biker face-to-face. But she was in my part of town now with a busted tire, no cell phone service, and completely at my mercy. I reached my hand out and she flinched. I wouldn''t hurt her, but she didn''t know that and I didn''t feel the need to reassure her. Instead, I kept my eyes on hers as I opened the car door and found the button to pop the trunk. I grabbed the spare and changed the tire, while she just stood in the pouring rain and watched me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, probably to hide her tiny tits. When I was finished, I threw the busted tire in the trunk before giving her a salute and heading back to my bike. She never spoke and neither did I. By the time I was straddled across the seat of my Harley, she was gone. That was five years ago. Sexiness. That''s the first thing I saw the second time I laid eyes on Saylor Samson. I was in downtown, a part of Jackson, Mississippi, where I wasn''t shunned and she wasn''t too out of place. She was walking down the sidewalk with her head down, texting, dressed in white cutoff shorts and a tiny tank top with a bikini under it. Her legs were long and tan. Her hair was blond and curly, and her eyes were hid behind a pair of aviators. When she crashed into me, I grabbed her arms to steady her when the impact of her small, soft body colliding with mine caused her to almost fall. When she looked at me, I knew she remembered who I was. Her mouth formed that small O that''s so fucking sexy on a woman, and when she released a breath of air, it was warm against my chin. I just stared at her, my eyes looking for hers through my own dark glasses. When she took a step back, I dropped my hand, gave another salute, and walked past her. By the time I got to the corner and looked back, she was gone. That was three years ago. Music. That''s the first thing I heard the third time I saw Saylor Samson. She sang a song that immediately got my attention. It was beautiful. Just like her. Her hair was straight, and she looked elegant. Her body was hidden behind a piano, but her eyes found mine as I took a seat at the table closest to her. I twirled the beer bottle in my hand and watched as she sang to me. She was asking me to come away with her. I ignored the looks everyone in the restaurant gave me. I didn''t belong there. It was a nice place. People were wearing suits and shit, but I didn''t give a fuck. I didn''t want to sit at the bar where I half-ass fit in. I wanted to sit at the table next to the Aphrodite with the beautiful voice, right in the middle of the tie-wearing CEOs and their overpriced escorts. And she wanted me there. She hadn''t looked at me like I didn''t belong. She looked at me like I was the only man in the room. When the song finished, she left. Maybe she went on break. Maybe it was her last song. I didn''t know and never would. I left when she did. That was two years ago. Protectiveness. That''s what the fuck I felt the last time I laid eyes on Saylor Samson. I was in a bar, she was in a bar. I had a date, she had a date. My date was a smokin''-hot redhead I''d picked up on my way in that had already come on my knee twice. Her date was a fuckin'' prick who had jealousy issues. Not that I could blame him. Saylor wasn''t a little girl anymore. She was a full-blown woman whose dance moves had every dick in the bar twitching. Her hair was long. Really fuckin'' long. Down to her ass and thick and curly and crazy, kinda like she stuck her finger in a light socket. And it was sexy. Really fuckin'' sexy. I felt my dick press harder against my jeans, and it had nothing to do with the redhead humping my knee and sucking my neck. Saylor wore a skirt that looked like it was made out of glitter and was so short, the cheeks of her ass hung out every time Lil Jon demanded she get low. My eyes moved down her legs to her high heels that were so tall, it looked like she was walking on her toes. I don''t know how in the hell women wear that shit, but it was hot. Especially on Saylor Samson. She was dancing on a table with a group of her friends. Judging by the sash and tiara the girl next to her was wearing, they were celebrating something. It physically hurt when I had to drag my eyes from Saylor''s legs to find her date yelling at her. He was demanding she get off the stage, and I could make out the words "go fuck yourself" on her lips. When he reached up and grabbed for her leg, I was already on my way over. I wasn''t pissed because it was Saylor who he was messing with, or at least that''s what I told myself. Usually, I didn''t get involved with relationship drama. This guy could be her husband for all I knew, but she was a chick and he was a dude, and I wasn''t gonna stand for that shit. I felt her eyes on me, and I didn''t want to look, but I did. The fight seemed to die out of her, and I knew it was because she knew I was there. I don''t know how she knew and I didn''t care. All that mattered was that she needed me. She needed me and she knew I could protect her. I could help her. She knew this shit, and she didn''t even know my fucking name. Adrenaline shot through my body. I could feel my temples throbbing . . . my nostrils flaring . . . my teeth clenching . . . my hands balling into fists. I was gonna kill that motherfucker. She was telling me with her eyes she needed this. She wanted this. She wanted me. I grabbed the prick by the throat and he grasped my hand in a shitty attempt to pry my fingers from around his neck. I carried him through the crowd of people with his f
The first in a sexy, steamy, exciting new series. Romance with an edge! Authentic - Kim Jones is married to a former MC member. For fans of Sons of Anarchy (FX) and Joanna Wylde's Reapers Motorcycle Club series (Berkley, also available).